World of Warcraft: The Dispossessed
by XD00175
Summary: Centuries after the Burning Legion decimates Azeroth the planet is left as a wasteland torn apart by warring demon lords. The Alliance and Horde are distant memories, but a group of survivors could hold the key to reclaiming their world.
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone, this is my first fanfic so please bear with me when it comes to formatting issues and the like. I hope you enjoy.

Anduin Wrynn didn't even flinch as the world around him shook. He'd been in plenty of exploding buildings as of late, and he was used to the sensation. Guards shouted and the air hummed with magic as the mages powered up. Commander Bloodfang issued orders, sending squads of men to the door to be nothing more than cannon fodder. They would be through the palace gates soon enough. All of them were dead.

He screwed his eyes shut as the voices wracked his brain, fighting for control. Just a few more moments, and they would be gone. He would not let them win. He opened his eyes, control reestablished. The king returned to his book.

Anduin wrote feverishly; his work was nearly finished. He had never been a warrior, nor a powerful leader of men. But this book would be his greatest achievement. He had witnessed the end, and those who came after could know what had happened. Perhaps they would find a solution where he had not. Anduin heard Bloodfang pad over to him, sniffing loudly. The grizzled Worgen peeked over his shoulder.

"Are you sure this is worth it, my king? Worth dying here, rather than even trying to live another day?"

"Worth every man here Bloodfang," Anduin replied sadly. "We're dead, no matter how long we run. I couldn't save Stormwind, or humanity. But the Codex will give our descendants a fighting chance."

Bloodfang nodded, seemingly satisfied. The old Worgen had been Anduin's closest companion since this had all begun. Each trusted the other with his life. "As foolish as this seems, I defer to your judgment. As always. If Sargeras truly does succeed at Nordrassil, then we wouldn't last long in any case. I can only hope that I take some of these bastards with me," he said, with his characteristic wolfish smile.

"I'm sure you'll fit in a few more good kills," Anduin saidm turning back to his book. His arm spasmed; he hid it from Bloodfang. The Worgen didn't need to know. After a moment, the attack subsided. He was back in control. Quill in hand, he returned to writing. He was placing the final words, which weren't words at all. The book had been completed for about an hour, but he was reinforcing it and enhancing it with every relevant spell he could think of. He was transcribing the final runes as a loud _whoosh_ announced the opening of a portal.

Bloodfang was between him and the portal in an instant, longswords drawn. But Anduin was sure he knew who was coming. He waved the Worgen down as a red-faced soldier ran through the portal, which collapsed as soon as he exited. He bent over, panting, before gather his breath.

"My king," he said, clapping a hand to his breast. "They are safe. Your wife and son, along with the rest of the Vault. We've sealed it, and squadron eight is drawing the legion's hounds to Redridge. They'll be able to act as a decoy while the spell finalizes, and the Vault will be safe."

Anduin breathed a sigh of relief. He had expected success, but it was good to hear confirmation. He absently fingered his pendant. He and Dornaa had only been married a short time, but the thought of never seeing her again still tore at his heart. But they had both known the risks, and her survival was necessary for the discovery of the Codex.

"Thank you, soldier. It's good to hear some pleasant news for once." As if to argue Anduin's optimism, the castle rumbled again. Clouds of plaster fell downward, and the door audibly splintered. Bloodfang directed more to the gate, as if they could do anything. "I'm sorry you were the messenger," Anduin continued. "We won't last more than a few more minutes. At least it should be quick."

"My king, it's a true honor to fight and die at your side," the man protested fiercely. Anduin would have been convinced, if the man's fear wasn't so obvious in his eyes. But who would not fear the end of days?

"Good to hear soldier. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have something to attend to."

The soldier nodded, and Anduin inscribed the last rune. The book slammed shut of its own accord, and Anduin drew his knife. He cut a small slit in his thumb, pressing it into the book's cover. He murmured the Nathrezim spell, warding the Codex against almost anything. This was the most important part, and he was taking a massive risk with this extra precaution. But the book was now indestructible. The soldier gasped audibly, no doubt surprised to find out that the rumors that Anduin Wrynn was a bloodmage were true.

"Desperate times, soldier. Desperate times," Anduin said with a rueful grin and a shake of the head. The man only nodded. If only he knew the half of the things Anduin had learned. Forbidden knowledge had been pricey.

Suddenly, a roar shook the castle, as the doors were ripped off. Shouts and screams echoed from the door, and Bloodfang shouted for battle stations. Anduin's elite guard fanned out, surrounding him in a wall of steel. Paladins, warriors, and Death Knights stood before him, forming an impenetrable wall. Archers and gunmen circled behind him, preparing to unleash a barrage. Magic users readied their spells.

The moments crept by. Anduin found himself actually anticipating this. He wanted to see if it all worked. Sweat snaked down his back, and he his heart leapt to his throat as the first fleeing guard crossed the threshold into the fortified throne room. His face was a mask of pure terror, and he wasn't alone in this regard. Several more followed him, but they didn't make it very far.

Tendrils of shadow shot out, impaling each one. A few made grunts, but most couldn't register what happened before they died. They fell to the floor, spasming as the source of the magic strode into the room.

Mephistroph, leader of the Nathrezim, wore dark blue mage's war armor, his robes melding into nearly black plate armor. He wore a metal mask mimicking his skull like face, exaggerating his grotesque features. The tendrils of shadow connected to him, and his eyes showed a mirthless smile as he watched the men die. Two Wrathguards flanked him, and a legion of Felguards filed in behind. Anduin heard bowstrings tightening, guns cocking, spells readying, and weapons being drawn. Apparently unfazed, the dreadlord began to clap.

"Excellent work young Wrynn, truly excellent. You took quite a few of my legions with you here; I was almost challenged," Mephistroph said haughtily, his mask slowly turning to smoke to allow him to talk clearly. "Pity this was all so pointless. It might have made for a good story if there was anyone left to tell it."

"Glad to hear we made it worth your while Mephistroph. I'd express my condolences toward your being ignored by Sargeras yet again, but I don't like you and you don't deserve my pity."

Mephistroph snarled. "Ignored? I was the only one trusted to lead this assault! I will be-"

"Laughed at by the rest of the legion," Anduin finished for him. "You lost a large number of soldiers to take a small resistance, while the actual armies fight at Nordrassil."

"Silence you insolent boy!" the dreadlord commanded, all amused pretense gone. "Or did you not notice that you are about to die?"

"Oh I've noticed. But I aim to make it count."

Mephistroph spat, his faceguard beginning to reform. "Very well," he began, his voice now muffled. "We'll have some fun first. My wrathguards will face your bodyguard, just to warm everybody up."

Anduin didn't see what Mephistroph was getting at, but he nodded. Thomas Bloodfang could kill two wrathguards without looking. Bloodfang strode forward, sinking into a fighter's crouch. Mephistroph's guards wielded large halberds, giving them a terrifying reach. One charged and struck, but hit nothing.

Bloodfang drifted around them, faded into shadow. He had perfected the Worgen's Darkflight ability into a deadly maneuver. Bloodfang melded out of the shadows behind his opponents, and launched into a flurry of blows. His blades, swung with savage precision, rent the demons' armor wherever they landed.

They pivoted, seemingly unaffected, and attacked with more speed than Anduin would have thought possible with weapons that large. Bloodfang dodged and parried, turning their strikes away at the last possible moment each time. A snarl covered his face, and his single eye dodged wildly. Eventually, he made a mistake. He went to parry, and missed the angle by a margin. The wrathguard pressed his advantage, pushing Bloodfang off balance. He turned a fall into a dodge, and found himself pinned between two massive spears.

Anduin saw Mephistroph smile, but the fight hadn't even started. Before either could draw back for a strike, Bloodfang lashed out with both swords, sinking them into his assailants' hands. They roared in fury as he jerked the blades, opening ragged wounds, until he squeezed free.

Bloodfang dashed across the room, putting distance between him and the demons. They charged heedlessly, blinded by anger. Bloodfang hurled one of his swords, which flew like an arrow into a wrathguard's chest. He stumbled to his knees, howling, and Bloodfang dashed forward, jumping above the other's strike and landing on the fallen demon. He drove his free sword into its skull, the force of the impact driving the demon to the ground. Bloodfang ripped his blades free, and decapitated the demon.

Mephistroph looked anxious now, and Anuin smiled openly. The remaining demon didn't show any fear after the death of his comrade, and charged Bloodfang, spear set to impale the Worgen. Bloodfang snarled and charged, rapidly closing the distance. Before the two met, though, Bloodfang vanished. The wrathguard stabbed nothing, and whirled around, seemingly ready for Bloodfang's tactic.

The Worgen stood ten yards from the demon, weapons sheathed. He jerked his arm toward the wrathguard, who began to charge. Bloodfand lazily made a sign with his paw, and a jet of black fire lanced from his arm, crashing into the demon. The wrathguard didn't have the chance to react before he was burned in two. The look in Mephistroph's eyes said he hadn't heard of the Worgen's exorcism ability.

Bloodfang returned to Anduin, who patted his shoulder. "Excellent techniques," he said.

The Worgen grinned. "Being the only Dark Paladin had its perks."

Mephistroph was not as amused. The dreadlord's eyes were painted with fury. The inability to torture Anduin in any way must have been painful for him. Anduin didn't intend to alleviate that pain.

"Time to die boy," the dreadlord spat. "Say hello to daddy for me."

Meptistroph waved a hand, and his demons charged, spreading out in a curve. Anduin gave a signal, and a volley of arrows, bullets, and spells wracked the line. The demons charged heedless, only a few among them stumbling. The line behind Anduin continued to volley, fire, ice, metal, and stone tearing into the charging beasts. The felguards reached the wall of heavy armor, and the fighting began in earnest.

It was brutal. Every soldier under Anduin's command was intensely skilled; one didn't survive for long in the apocalypse without learning how to kill effectively. Even so, they were still outmatched by creatures born for war. The warriors fought with fury, only breaking their line to step out and deliver a killing blow. Even so, they still died quickly. Anduin unleashed a constant stream of healing spells, closing wounds as they opened and keeping the men invigorated. The soldiers behind him continued their attacks, the mages devastating the area with spells while the snipers picked out weak spots.

Mepitstroph stood behind his guards, lazily picking off Anduin's soldiers. Bloodfang roamed the battlefield, exposing enemy weakness wherever it could be found. The enemies numbers were thinning, but so were Anduin's. He prepared the teleportation spell, the last one he would need. Before he knew what was happening, a blow to the back knocked him to the floor, the codex flying from his hands. He got to his feet quickly, and turned to see a felguard raising its spear. Before he could cast a spell, an axe buried itself in the monster's skull. Anduin retrieved the codex, and turned to find that a group of felguards had broken the line and flanked the ranged fighters. The battle was a raw melee now, and Mephistroph strode toward Anduin, a ball of black smoke in hand. He felt the spell charge, and he went.

Anduin felt a slight compression as the portal took hold. A burst of light blinded him before his eyes settled. He was in the Cathedral graveyard, at his mother's grave.

Varian was buried here too. There hadn't been time to carve his sarcophagus, but he had at least been given proper burial rights. He had earned those. Anduin wasted no time preparing the other spell, the one final guard that would ensure the success of his plans. Now, he just needed to trust that his trap would work. He pressed himself against the large tombstone, waiting, hiding. Sounds of battle still rang throughout the city. Suddenly, a roar announced the opening of another portal.

Mephistroph, bleeding and scowling, stepped into the cemetery, wildly scanning the area. "I know you're here, boy!" he yelled, firing bolts of dark energy, annihilating anything he could. "I'm going to tear your arms off and mount you above the city walls!"

He roared angrily, and Anduin drew his knife slowly. He started a long incision, running down the length of his arm. He barely flinched at this process anymore. He channeled his magic to begin the blood magic ritual, converting his own blood into pure magical power. He needed everything he could muster for this. He looked back to the graveyard, and found Mephistoph gone. His heart jumped to his throat, and a claw sprouted from his chest. Mephistoph roared in triumph, raising him into the air, mounted on his fist.

"Fool child, did you think to deceive the master of the Nathrezim?" he howled exultantly. He flung Anduin across the yard, where he landed with a hard thud. The dreadlord flew into the air and glided to him, landing a few steps away.

Anduin rolled onto his back, using every bit of willpower he had to stay focused and remain his hold on the book. As Mephistroph came within a yard, he unleashed the blood spell he'd been channeling. He thrust his hand toward the demon and unleashed an enhanced bolt of holy fire. The golden flame lanced out of his hand and tore through the demon, burning him badly. Mephistroph roared insanely.

"Did you think me a fool, demon?" Anduin roared through the haze of pain and dying. "I knew you'd come after me, knew you couldn't resist coming to gloat. Your guards are not here; your own desire for success will be our death."

"I yet live, boy! And my legions are burning your city, destroying the only human power base remaining. And you speak of destroying me, when you can't even stand." As if to prove his point, he lifted Anduin up, and the king's heart raced. He still needed a few more moments. "I'll disfigure you first, then I will rip you in half." Mephistroph opened his jaws in a fierce snarl, before his face went slack and confused. He dropped Anduin roughly, who looked up to see what had saved his life for the moment.

Two swords grew from the demon's chest. Bloodfang kicked him in the back, and the demon fell forward with an audible grunt.

"Look at him again, and I'll make this more painful," he growled. The demon couldn't reply beyond a mumble, touching his chest disbelievingly. Bloodfang's swords became wreathed in golden fire, and he struck the demon's head off. The body burst into black dust, and the Worgen ran to Anduin. Typically, a dreadlord would return to the Twisting Nether. But Anduin had discovered a way to prevent that. Mephistroph was no more.

"My king," he said breathlessly. "Come we have to…we have to-"Anduin held up a hand to silence his friend.

"We discussed this. I'm dying anyway, Bloodfang. This was the best way to make it count. And we succeeded in every way," he said, barely able to form that sentence. Bloodfang nodded, tears streaming freely.

"I know, I know. But it just isn't fair."

"It really isn't," Anduin said. "But we've dealt a blow to the Legion here; they'll have lost more soldiers than it was worth. And there are the vaults, and the Codex. We've ensured the future of the world."

"I pray you're right Anduin," the Worgen said, nearly whispering.

"I'm certain I am. Now go," the king commanded. "I've got one last thing to take care of before I die, and you need to escape."

"Escape?" the Worgen growled. "I'm no craven dog! I'll kill as many demons as I can out there, go down fighting."

"No!" Anduin shouted, an act that cost more energy than he should have had left. He dissolved into a coughing fit before he could compose himself. "No," he continued after a moment, "you can't waste yourself here. You're important to the war effort. If you go now, you can make it back to Gilneas before the Legion recovers from the battles here and at Nordrassil. Get back to your people, make sure they're okay. Help them survive what's coming. As your king, I command it."

The Worgen appeared to see sense. "As you command, Anduin. I'm going to make the Legion pay with every breath I take, I swear that." The Worgen knelt down and placed his paw on the dying king's face. "Goodbye my friend."

"Go with the light, Thomas," Anduin managed to say in a whisper. The Worgen turned to leave, melding into the shadows. His nearly invisible form sped away.

Anduin dragged himself into a sitting position against a headstone, Codex clutched in a deathgrip against his chest. The voices were loud now, and angry. He grinned in spite of his situation. They lose.

He tapped into the spell he'd prepared earlier. All of the energy contained in his body was at his fingertips. He breathed a sigh of relief. King Bronzebeard had said he could do it, and he had agreed. But it was good to be able to be certain.

He allowed the spell to begin to act. He gasped loudly as pain lanced through his body, and not from the wounds. He'd crossed the Mana Threshold, as he called it. He was now drawing from his life energy, an intensely difficult act to force the body into. He closed his eyes as the spell took hold.

Magni had described an intense light, followed by a disturbing lightness. Anduin gasped once more as a rushing sound filled his ears, and he was pulled away forever.

Anduin Wrynn was gone, and the Stormwind cemetery was empty, save for a silver-white statue of a man, face oddly peaceful. A book was clutched to his chest, pulsing lightly.

A book that would decide the fates of those to come. This is their story.

Thanks for reading, I'll try to post new chapters on a regular basis. Any and all constructive criticism is welcome. I'll try to answer any questions posted in comments (if there are any) with new chapters.


	2. Remnants

Now I'm getting into the story proper. Thanks to everyone who's read so far, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter One-Remnants

Raen breathed out slowly, his breath frosting in front of his face. His following inhale brought a rank smell to his nose; the demon camp at Eastvale wasn't a pleasant place in any regard. With luck, however, it wouldn't be a problem in a few hours. All he needed now was the go-ahead. Shouldn't be long now. He was anxious to get moving, but he couldn't show it. He needed to remain calm and focused; good for morale. Ben decided to voice the anxiety the entire group was feeling.

"Dammit, how long have we been waiting now?" the archer demanded gruffly. His thick brows were twisted into a scowl, and he paced nervously, tugging on his bowstring. "I swear, the demons are just going to drop dead of old age before we actually fight."

"Keep your voice down, Ben," Emeline said, fiddling with her sword. "Just because Raen's spell is shielding us doesn't mean we can't be heard."

"We're fine this far out," Ben replied with an absent wave of the hand. "Ormozz doesn't have the manpower to patrol this far out anymore. He's pulled everything back to reinforce while he tries to rebuild his army. He can only afford a few patrols anymore, after we killed those watchers near the bank."

"You really think he's that worn down?" Maria asked nervously. Raen felt sorry she had to be here, the girl was barely fifteen. He expected her to trip over her spear when they got moving. But she had volunteered, and they couldn't be picky.

Raen nodded. "We know for sure. Henri ran reconnaissance last night; Ormozz has pulled everything back, only a few scouting parties patrol the area. Our raids at the farms have been pretty effective; he can't send out any more enforcers. If we don't get to him, Tel'Thamaz probably will."

The group nodded, satisfied with their position. Raen's platoon numbered seven, and all of them were fearless fighters. None would back down from any fight, no matter how difficult. But the thought of an easy victory was music to their ears. "Everyone, check your gear again," Raen said. "We'll be heading out soon, I'm sure."

They nodded, and Raen turned to his own equipment. He ran a hand along his staff, finding no weaknesses or cracks. He didn't expect any; it was enchanted and likely couldn't break. But it didn't hurt to be careful. His sword was firmly in its sheath; hopefully he wouldn't need it. A long knife was sheathed alongside his sword. The potions in his bandolier were secured tightly, and every vial was full. His herb pouch bulged satisfyingly, and his spell book dangled from a loop on his belt. A snug jacket rounded out his gear. Everything appeared to be in order. He turned to check the rest of the group.

Ben's brows were furrowed as he checked his gear. His longbow had an arrow knocked, and a full quiver hung from his belt. His studded leather armor, though worn, still looked sturdy. A pair of long knives grew from his shoulders. Emeline ran a sharpening stone over her sword, making sure the edge was razor sharp. She scanned it with a keen eye until she was satisfied. She also wore leather armor, a row of throwing knives across her chest. A hatchet hung from her belt, and her brown hair was pulled into a bun.

Maria fiddled with her armor, a leather jacket covered with piecemeal scraps of armor. A crossbow and quiver sat on her back, and she nervously rotated her spear. A leather helmet sat on her head, red hair poking out the bottom. The group's druid, Veris, sat cross-legged, his robes falling just below his knees. He wore no armor, just his druid's robes, rough trousers, and sturdy boots. A knobby staff sat at his side, and his eyes were closed in meditation. Their glow seeped out from under his eyelids.

Aldric tightened the straps on his shield, close faced plate helm hiding what Raen knew would be a mouth twisted in concentration. A hammer lay on the ground by his feet, and a claymore rode his back. Paired throwing axes sat at his hips. His armor, plate and mail, shone in the morning light. The last member of the group, Merric, fiddled with her robes, a round buckler on her arm. Her gray hair flowed loose, only restrained by a gem studded crown around her forehead. Her scepter hung in its loop, glowing faintly. They had all stashed their cloaks in the hollow where they hid; any encumbrance was unwelcome.

By Raen's measure, everyone seemed to be ready. "Everyone has the plans memorized, correct?" he asked. "We don't want a repeat of the prison farms."

Everyone nodded. "We move straight ahead," Ben recited, "Staying in the trees, attempting to avoid detection. When Orthus leads the charge, we move in from the flank. We should be able to crush the demons between us."

"Exactly," Raen said. Before he could say any more, a loud horn blast echoed from deeper in the woods. "That's the signal; let's move."

Raen dissipated the illusion around them, and they began moving forward at a light jog. Raen's lungs burned in the morning coolness, and the party ran without talking. _Good_, Raen thought, _they're focused_. The only sound was the rustle of clothes and the clink of Aldric's armor.

Ben ran slightly ahead, bow drawn. He suddenly stopped and held up his hand, signaling the rest to do the same. The party slowed down, crowding around the stump of a large tree.

"We got a patrol coming this way. They're just making the rounds, so it appears that they've got no idea the assault's underway. Probably just going to check the horn sound. Looks like an Observer, and a few felhounds. We've got to hit them fast before they sense Raen.

The group nodded, and Raen waved to their right. "I'll take Maria and Emeline. The rest of you stay here with Ben. Ben, on your call."

The archer nodded, and the group split. Raen and the others ran low to the ground, hiding in the brush. He pulled up to a large tree standing about one hundred yards from their previous position. He pressed up against the tree, and the women did the same. They had barely reached cover when Raen heard the hounds.

A grotesque creature came into view, a blob of pallid flesh with five eyes. One large eye was ringed by four smaller ones, and all glowed purple. A maw of needle-like teeth grinned beneath the eyes, and a mass of tentacles brushed the ground as it floated. A pack of several beasts followed it, eyeless creatures, mouths full of razor-sharp teeth. Their leathery skin was a violent red, and each had a mane of spiky hairs. They prowled on all fours, sniffing, tentacles from their backs searching predatorily, sniffing for magic. Felhounds.

Most of Raen's spells would be useless against them, and the fact that he could cast was like a beacon. Emeline had her sword ready, and Maria had a crossbow bolt loaded, spear leaning against a tree. Raen prepared to ready one of his few effective spells. Just waiting on Ben now.

A bowstring twanged from the group's position, an arrow screaming toward the Observer. It buried itself in the center of the main eye, and Ben gave a whoop of triumph. The Observer still lived, but its capabilities were greatly diminished. Ben fired another arrow, hitting another eye on the twisting demon, and Maria loosed a crossbow bolt, nailing a felhunter in the side.

The hounds began fanning out, hunting for the assailants while the Observer growled in agony. Aldric ran out from the woods, shield held in front. Veris jogged out behind him, a ball of golden light firing from his hand; felhunters were less resistant to nature magic. Merric approached cautiously, waiting for her turn to heal any wounds.

Raen and his group stepped out, Emeline running ahead. Raen and Maria followed. Two hounds jumped at Emeline, and Raen loosed a bolt of ice toward one. His ice spells were his only option; the demons devoured arcane energy, and their skin was resistant to fire. When casting an ice spell, the actual energy of the spell was not targeted at the demon; rather, it was used to actually create the ice itself. A felhunter wouldn't be able to stop that sort of spell. The icicle tore through the air, ripping into a demon. The bolt caught the demon in the neck, tearing a ragged hole in its side. The creature's jump turned into a plummet as its muscles tensed and its momentum fell away. The other demon landed on Emeline, who fell backward into a roll. She threw the demon off and leapt back to her feet. Raen turned his attention to another hound streaking toward them.

Maria disappeared from his side, going to help Emeline. Raen fired another ice bolt, but the demon dodged this one. As he readied another, a burst of pain lanced through him. He felt like his insides were on fire; the demon had cast a mana burn.

Raen felt his mana reserves being leached away in small doses. The pain was bearable, but that didn't make it pleasant. The demon drew closer, and Raen slid his hands down his staff. As it leapt, he swung the staff, diamond head cracking into the hunter, knocking it aside.

The demon fell away, mana burn dissipating. Raen drew his knife and pounced on the beast, driving the blade into its skull.

Emeline was pulling her sword out of another felhunter, a large gash on her arm. The other group had killed the rest of the scouting party. The Observer lay on the ground, four eyes poked out and covered in wounds. Aldric's armor was splattered with blood, but he and Veris appeared healthy. Merric ran over to Emeline and began healing her wound.

"I'm fine," Emeline protested, but was silenced by a glare from the healer. She gritted her teeth as the wound was forced close. Merric's face was beaded in sweat; healing effectively was becoming difficult for the older woman.

"We can't have your sword hand getting hurt, now can we?" Merric said, making a forced smile. Emeline shook her head. She hated making Merric heal anything more than a scrape.

Raen paused to survey the situation. Far off sounds of battle rang through the trees. "Sounds like we're late," Raen said. "Everyone ready?"

The group nodded, and they took off through the trees. After another minute, the forest abruptly thinned, leaving them in a field of large stumps. From what Raen had been told Eastvale had once been home to a logging camp. Now, it hosted a demon's lair.

The ground was covered in scorched patches where demonic gates had been set up to call minions from the Nether. Ormozz had used these gates to great effect to build up a rather large army. However, other demon lords had targeted him as of late, and his gates had become damaged in the fighting. He was stuck with his current forces now.

The camp was ringed by a man-high wall of black felsteel. The walls would cut any who attempted to scale them, leaving the only entrances a few breaks in the wall. These were guarded by towers, manned with felguards.

The main gate was currently under attack by a large group of people. A wall of steel clad soldiers fought with the demons, while mages and archers fired into the enemy from behind. A large man clad in silver plate yelled orders from behind, white beard streaming in the wind.

Orthus Foehammer was a paladin, and the leader of the Sons of Stormwind. He was the only paladin, in fact, that anyone in Goldshire had ever encountered. Becoming a paladin was the result of years of work. Orthus' squire Richard would become paladin at his death, following a tradition of many years.

The demonic forces were comprised mostly of felguards, towering creatures of muscle clad in spiky black armor. They wielded jagged greatswords, and fought with excessive brutality. Ormozz had gone for quantity, building an army of warriors that lacked variation, but was still effective.

The felguards pushed against the attacked soldiers, attempting to stream around to flank them. Orthus had fallen for this tactic too many times in his youth to not avoid it now. He had mages and skirmishers fighting from the sides, their only purpose to put down any felguard who managed to break away. This countered the demons' main tactic, turning the fight into a brutal melee.

The felguards were supplemented by succubi, who moved around the battle, striking at weak points, and imps, who attacked the humans with balls of fire. They were commanded by Ormozz, a large demon with blue skin.

Ormozz was a terrorguard, typically a demon of middling strength. He stood at least eight feet tall, his legs ending in cloven hooves. Large black wings grew from his back, and his head resembled a skull with a rack of horns. However, his most visible feature was his chest, which appeared to be a mouth. The demon's torso was bisected by a pair of giant jaws, a wispy smoke spilling out from inside. The demon shouted orders, ordering his auxiliary troops to the walls, where the platoons were now converging.

Raen's group pulled up, and Merric threw up a shield around them. No sooner had she done so than a barrage of fireballs from the guard tower pelted into them. They pushed toward the gate, and Ben fired a few arrows at them. The spell allowed anything to come out, but nothing to go in.

Two more groups joined Raen's, each numbering no more than ten members. Raen recognized Henri instantly; the man wore a distinctive ram's head helm.

"What took so long?" he yelled to Raen. "We've been circling the area for a few minutes now." His group was similarly shielded.

"We got hung up with a patrol. I think we killed the last Observer."

"I was wondering why nobody had seen that yet. Good work. You ready?"

Raen nodded, and Henri barked an order to the other mages. In unison, Raen and the others pelted the log gate with fire spells. It quickly burned away, and the groups streamed through.

Ben and a few others took the towers, while Aldric and Henri led the charge. The groups formed on them, most mages and archers on the inside. Raen stood on the outside, however; he was a more skilled combatant than most of the mages, and it was his duty to lead. Across the camp, the other three platoons streamed in. Ormozz roared at his soldiers, directing them to the insurgents. His forces were now spread thin; however, he was too arrogant and afraid to actually join the fight. In a few minutes, the main group could be making its way inside.

As the demons approached Raen, he quickly appraised what they were up against. Mostly felguards, with felhounds running among the pack. A group of succubi followed, interspersed with imps. Similar fare to what the main group was facing, then. Raen prepared a fire spell to launch at the demons.

When they were twenty yards apart, Raen thrust his staff into the sky. The air above the demons crackled, and a bombardment of fireballs fell upon them. Most charged through it, but several screamed loudly as they died. Both groups kept moving, and collided.

Raen held his staff across his chest defensively; the enchanted wood could clash with most swords. He fired a bolt of arcane energy at a felguard, who hunched his shoulders and took the blow. The demon charged Raen, pike above his head. Just because the things could fight well didn't make them tactically smart. Raen fired a frostbolt through its unprotected chest, and the corpse tripped over its own legs, plummeting. Raen unleashed a volley of arcane missiles, firing into the demons. To his sides he could hear fighting, and spells and arrows streaked overhead. He heard Ben cheer from behind as he took the watchtower.

To Raen's left, one of Henri's men took a cut to the thigh and went down. Raen turned to cast a spell at the man's attacker, and felt the spell suddenly block. He was being mana burned again, but his adrenaline kept him from feeling most of the pain. He dashed to the man, swinging his staff at the demon.

The felguard was already drawing its pike out of the solder's corpse by the time Raen connected, screaming with fury. His staff smashed against its head, and the demon staggered. Raen slipped into a fighter's crouch, keeping the demon away with fast pokes. The felguard feinted, and Raen thrust at thin air. The demon ripped the staff from his hands, tossing it away. Raen stumbled, and fell into a roll to narrowly avoid the demon's retaliatory swing. He drew his sword, holding the extended grip with both hands.

The demon advanced smiling, face a bloody wreck. Raen thought he might have broken its cheekbone. He swung heavily, and Raen threw himself out of the way. He hacked wildly at the demon, connecting on one of its wrist plates. He stepped forward and tried to thrust, which the felguard easily knocked away. It laughed huskily at it realized Raen was generally unskilled with his blade.

It launched into a flurry of quick blows, and Raen backpedaled quickly, tripping over the fallen soldier. He rolled out of the way as it stabbed downward. Raen struggled to get up, and the demon kicked him to the ground. It drew back to slash at him, but a hatchet crashed into its face.

"Get your ass up, Raen!" Emeline yelled, sprinting over to retrieve her hatchet. Her hair flowed loose as she dashed across the field to help Veris, who was fending off two angry imps.

Raen shouted his thanks and recovered his sword. Sheathing it, he picked up his staff. He realized the mana burn had long ended; someone must have killed the felhunter while he rolled in the dirt. However, his reserves were depleted. Mana loss was different from exhaustion. Raen's muscles were still fresh, but he was lightheaded. Everything was slightly unfocused. He pulled out a mana vial and swigged the blue liquid. Everything refocused, and he began analyzing the battle.

All semblance of tactics had broken down into a raw melee. The main group had forced its way into the compound now, and Ormozz stood with his soldiers, wielding two wicked curved swords. Raen turned his attention to his own battle, noticing Henri fending off two felguards, greatsword a blur. His helmet had been thrown off and a gash opened over his eye. Raen fired two icebolts, nailing the same demon twice. It turned to face him, roaring. Two bloody pillars of ice protruded from its chest, yet it stood. Henri yelled a thanks as the demon drunkenly charged Raen. He sidestepped it, driving the head of his staff into its side. He cast a fire spell, flames spreading from his staff, cooking it alive. It slumped off of his staff with a weak grunt.

Before Raen could locate another fight, he was thrown to the ground. He rolled onto his back, kicking blindly with both feet at a figure leaping toward him. He connected, booting something away. Climbing back to his feet, he fired an arcane bolt at the demon.

The succubus rolled out of the way, sinking into a threatening crouch. It approached Raen, a smile on its face. A light sound ran through his ears, drowning out the battle. Raen knew exactly what the demon was doing, but he didn't let it show. It approached causally, and he let himself appear unguarded, losing all tension. He prepared to strike the demon, but found he was actually frozen. Fear lanced through him as he pushed frantically, muscles straining against the charm. The succubus smiled seductively, licking its lips with a forked tongue. Raen pushed with everything he could muster, every muscle completely disabled by the spell.

As the demon tilted its head back to tear into his neck, Raen lashed out. He was so surprised he threw himself off balance, elbow connecting weakly with the demon's face. Both stumbled, and Raen turned his momentum into a swing. He heard the demon grunt as his staff connected to her chest. Before he could totally turn, he felt a slash across his back. The demon shrieked as she assaulted him, claws tearing into his reinforced jacket.

Raen roared in pain, pivoting, attempting to throw her off. He slid the staff out of his hands, holding only onto the bottom. He swung as hard as he could, using the momentum of the pivot to drive it home. The staff connected with the succubus' neck with a satisfying crack, and she fell with a gurgle. Raen stepped forward and stomped on her throat, before finishing her with an arcane bolt to the face.

He twisted, breathing heavily, ready for another. However, he found that the skirmish was over. A ragged mess of slaughtered demons was scattered around them, bathing the dusty ground in dark crimson blood. However, the actual battle was far from over. Ormozz was making his stand in the center of his compound.

"Platoon one, on me!" Raen shouted. Henri called for his platoon, and the others followed. They charged toward Ormozz and his guards, and Raen ran a quick survey of his group. Everyone seemed okay, from what he could tell. Maria ran with a slight limp, and Emeline had another cut on her arm. He needed to talk with that girl about not getting hit. Veris was the only one sporting a dangerous injury. A patch of his robe had been torn off, exposing his upper arm. The skin was a violent red, looking like a burn of some sort. Raen wasn't overly worried; the druid was an effective healer, and Merric was close at hand.

After a few moments, the group reached the main fighting. Henri gave an order to fan out, and the reinforcements approached in a semicircle, falling in where they were needed. Across the camp, the other group appeared to be doing the same. Raen sidled up next to Orthus, who was fighting on the front line, driving toward Ormozz.

"Good to see you, lad," Orthus said, not looking at Raen as he crushed a felhunter's skull.

"Glad to see we're winning," Raen replied, launching a fan of frost missiles into the demon's line. He struck several, drawing howls of pain out over the clang of battle.

"Don't be so sure of that," Orthus yelled over the din. "We've lost a lot in this fight."

"It's worth it. Has to be," Raen replied, sweeping a felguard off its legs. He finished it with a burst of fire to the face, then turned his attention to Ormozz.

Ormozz stood nearly alone, only a handful of guards remaining. One of his swords was gone, and the other was coated in blood. The battle stopped for a moment as he backed away, searching wildly. Orthus held up his hand to wait. Few things were more dangerous than a cornered demon. There was no sound but heavy breathing and the rush of wind. Ormozz's eyeless face stared with hate at the humans.

"Do it then!" the demon finally roared, his voice ragged and distorted. "Enjoy your hollow victory, worms. You only cast me down to trade for a new master. All of this means nothing," he said, waving his hands over the carnage.

"Enough talk, demon," Orthus spat. He raised his hand, and a bolt of golden fire streaked toward Ormozz, who stared at death defiantly. The exorcism drilled into the demon, burning a hole straight through it. Ormozz fell to his knees with a grunt, already disintegrating. Raen and the other mages similarly dispatched his remaining guards, who faced death with equal stoicism. After a few moments of silence, a cheer went up.

Orthus raised his hammer above his head, shouting "Victory is ours this day!"

The rest of the group took up the chant, cheering for victory, or for the Sons of Stormwind. Looking around them, Raen felt hollow. Despite his bold words to Orthus, he didn't know if this was worth it. He leaned on his staff, surveying the damage. They had won, but many had been lost in the attempt. Their numbers grew fewer with every victory.

Crimson blood stained the ground, mixed with twisted, torn bodies. The rank smell of demon reeked more than ever, and Raen found no glory in the day. Henri walked over, similarly solemn, helmet under his arm. He ran a hand through his cropped brown hair, shaking his head.

"I lost four men today, Raen. Four. In total, there were ten of us," the warrior said.

"We managed no casualties. Doubtless we won't be as lucky next time."

"What are we supposed to do? We don't have the men to fight this war. But they don't know that. Fools."

"Let them revel in success," a loud voice said behind them. Orthus loomed over them, acting intimidating, but visibly sharing their concern. "Through celebration, they can forget what this cost, if only for a little while."

"They need to know the cost, Orthus!" Henri yelled, sweeping his arms around the battlefield. A few close enough to hear him over the din looked on apprehensively. "This was a loss as much as a victory. One more winter, and we won't have five men to march together."

"I know," the paladin said, rubbing his thumbs into his eyes. The man was often bursting with vigor, but here his weariness was palpable. "I'm working on something, a plan of sorts. I'll tell the lieutenants when we return to Goldshire; I need just a bit more to iron it out."

"We're launching another large-scale campaign so soon?" Raen asked. "Orthus, we sustained heavy-"

The paladin held up a hand. "Worry not, Raen. This plan requires a more…delicate touch. Your platoon will get its rest. You need some too, by the looks of it."

The paladin only made Raen more aware of his exhaustion, but the mage hauled himself up defiantly. "I'm fine. Rest is not on my agenda."

Henri nodded, and Orthus shook his head. "You boys are my trusted lieutenants for a reason, but you aren't invincible. But we'll talk of this later. For now, let's give them something to cheer for."

The two men nodded reluctantly, and joined in the cry of victory. All around them, the celebration rang hollow, echoing defiantly against a dead world.

That's chapter one down, hopefully a lot more to go. Please review, tell me what is and isn't working. Thanks again for reading.


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